


In the Rain

by noifsandsorbees



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, The X-Files Revival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 08:01:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5326688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noifsandsorbees/pseuds/noifsandsorbees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Mulder and Scully caught in the rain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Rain

She’s more guarded these days, her shoulders always squared away, her steps steady in heels an inch taller than ever before. Her suits are immaculately ironed and tailored, and every curl of her hair is methodically placed. He hates it all.

When his life is falling apart, it shows on every inch of him. His hair turns grey, his bones creak and scruff builds a home over his face. He trips over his own feet and pulls off his t-shirt at the end of the day to find it had been on backward. He stops eating for days at a time and forgets that sleep even exists.

But she pulls herself together, builds a force against the world that screams strength.

They’re driving to a motel in Oregon and it’s so like old times that he wants to scream. Just like the first time, the woman next to him feels like a complete stranger, except now he knows what she looks like in moments of absolute joy and unimaginable despair, he knows what makes her tick and what makes her cry; he knows what each inch of curves under her suit tastes like. 

He’s spent the last week trying to stop himself from pushing her against a filing cabinet, ripping open each button of her shirt and stripping her down to the woman who doesn’t bother with defensive walls against him. It’s not about sex, but rather a plea for her to look him in the eye and say anything that hasn’t been rehearsed for minutes before.

He wants to see her smile and hear her laugh; he wants to hear her yell at him, shoot him again if that’s what it takes. But instead she stays collected and speaks as she needs to. This is work and that’s all.

He wonders what she’d do if he reached over and threaded their fingers together, in the way he would when they would fight on the run — quiet enough to say I’m still mad, but tender enough to say I’ll always be here. Instead her perfectly manicured hands are flipping through police reports and news articles, closed off to him.

It’s easier to see the dark fields through the rain on the dashboard than it is to read her right now.

He knows this isn’t easy for her, that being here with him everyday is pulling at her last bits of self control. She’ll break at some point, enough to ask if he needs sunflower seeds when she runs into the gas station or maybe place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. But right now he can’t read anymore of her. 

He’s not asking for much, he’s not pleading for her to come home to him, he just wants a sign that she’s not entirely gone.

Almost without thinking he pulls the car over to the side of the road, sending her jerking forward against the seat belt.

“What the…” she starts and he loves the flash of anger and annoyance across her face.

“C’mon,” he urges and jumps out of the car.

She follows, like he knows she always will.

“What are you doing, Mulder?” She groans, seconds from begging to get back into the car.

“Come here,” he all but orders reaching out his hands to her. She doesn’t take them, but follows as he starts walking into the field. He stops when they can no longer see the road and turns to her, burying his fingers in his pockets. He shrugs. He hadn’t figured out what to do once they got to this part, but he needed her and the spontaneity and the chance to throw her off.

She looks up at him, impatient and annoyed. She’s rubbing her arms, cold from the pounding rain that’s starting to soak through her suit. Even her hairspray can’t hold up to the weather and within minutes her hair has soaked straight, frizzing slightly at the sides. Before he can stop himself his hand is in her hair, grabbing a lock and tracing it down. 

“I missed your hair like this,” he sighs.

“Wet?”

“Natural. It’s always beautiful, but I love it when you don’t mess with it.”

He watches the wheels in her head turn to figure out how to respond and he thinks he may have gotten through a little bit. He sees irritation and frustration, and a little bit of heartbreak.

“C’mon,” she says, gently wrapping her fingers around his palm and walking back toward the car. She looks back at him for one unguarded moment to tug him along, her eyes half sad and half hopeful and a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. It’s not quite head thrown back in laughter, but it’s a start.


End file.
